


Fragile

by jen131



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:51:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6911614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jen131/pseuds/jen131
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was so much stronger than when he first saw her, but right now, she was as fragile as a porcelain doll in the hands of a child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragile

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for The Caryl Daily's Grab Bag chalenge. In my head, both Hershel and Carol would be warm and receptive to newcomers to the prison, so I wrote it that way.

He found her deep within in the tombs, strength withering away, but alive.  He lifted her easily into his arms as he rushed to get her to the safety of the cell block they called home.  He looked down every few steps, checking for walkers, pools of blood, and any other obstructions.  He was also making sure she was still doing alright.  

 

Tiny, weak fingers wrapped around the edge of his shirt in between the buttons, gently resting against his skin.    

 

Upon reaching the cell block, he considered taking her up to his cell, but he knew Hershel would have a hard time with the stairs.  Her cell was closer, so he set her down gently on the foam padding that barely passed as a mattress.  The clothes she was wearing were dirty and torn, dark spots of blood up one side and down the other.  He wasn’t sure if the blood was old, or new.  If it had come from killing a walker, or from one trying to kill her.  The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable, but he had to check her over.  

 

A few times he could recall hearing her express the joy she felt over a lack of mirrors in the prison, the houses they stayed at over the winter, and back in Dale’s RV.  When they were still staying on the farm, she wouldn’t even lean over the water’s edge too far while doing the laundry or the dishes.  It was as if she was afraid to see her own reflection.  It hurt him to see how badly Ed had scarred her, not just physically, but emotionally as well.  If she were only able to see herself through his eyes, to hear the sound of her laugh through his ears, maybe it would reverse some of the damage.  

 

He knew she was extremely self conscious and was afraid to let anyone else see the scars that mottled her skin.  On her scheduled shower days, she would only allow Michonne into the room with her, while Daryl took his place at the door as their guard.  Michonne was stoic, which put Carol at ease.  The warrior woman never felt the need to fill the silence with small talk which would undoubtedly turn to questions about her life before.  With the exception of her sweet daughter, Sophia, the past held memories she never had no desire to revisit.

 

Daryl looked over every inch of her skin for any bites or scratches.  He knew they were there, but he physically saw each stitch hole, jagged line, and burn in the process.  Anger and empathy coursed through his veins.  Knowing she needed him to focus, that her life depended on it, was the only thing keeping him rational enough to finish checking for any injuries.

 

* * *

 

He kept a silent vigil at her bedside, feeling as though days had gone by rather than a few hours.  He only moved from the worn, folding chair next to the bed to take care of his business when Hershel or Michonne came to check on her.  As soon as he heard the sound of the old man’s crutches as they moved closer to the cell he moved his hand off of hers, where it remained most of the time, to wipe the tears away.  

 

Daryl rose to his feet when he heard the knocking on the bars of the cell, not wanting to intrude. He pulled the thin curtain that Carol used for a little bit of privacy aside to let Hershel and Michonne in, and ducked out of the cell to take some time to himself, although he hated to leave her side.  

 

He stepped outside of the prison block and walked around the corner, out of sight of the other residents.  He leaned against the wall for a minute before sliding down to sit on the ground.  He lit one of his last cigarettes.  He knew he needed to quit entirely, she wanted him to quit, but right now he thought it would help calm his nerves.  He took a long drag off the cigarette, feeling the smoke swirling in his lungs before exhaling.  He was so relieved to find her alive, but she wasn’t out of the woods yet.  She was the only thing left in the world that mattered to him.  She was his Sun, and everything in the world, in his world, was focused right on her.  He couldn’t lose her now, after everything they made it through together.    

 

Daryl crept back into the cell block and headed to the locker room.  A few minutes under the running water would clear his head, at least he hoped so.  The soap that was in there smelled of peaches and vanilla.  Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t dream of using the fruity smelling junk, but as soon as he got a good whiff of it, he realized it was hers.  The little resolve he still held onto, came undone as he sat down on the shower floor.  The tears rolled down his cheeks and mixed with the water before swirling down the drain.

 

His red glassy eyes gave his feelings away, although no one dared to mention them when he appeared in the doorway.  Michonne got up out of his chair and gathered Hershel’s belongings slinging the bag over her shoulder and following the doctor out of the room.  With the sound of the crutches fading down the hall, Daryl returned to his place at her bedside, her hand back in his where he decided it belonged.

 

His eyes cast down on her unresponsive body lying on the bed.  Her breathing was shallow, the rise and fall of her chest was almost unnoticeable as her lungs struggled to inflate.  Her skin, which normally was a beautiful shade of ivory was now dulled by the dirt and blood speckled across it.  Her limp hand felt so tiny in his as he brushed some of the dirt off, his thumb stopping on the hair tie that never left her wrist.  

The wrenching pain he felt in his heart intensified as he remembered the freckled face of the young girl who wore the hair tie prior to Carol.  A young girl who was never given a chance.  A young girl whom he felt he had failed.  He had never wanted to see the sparkle in her eyes as much as he needed to see them now, full of life.

 

He pulled his hands up, still encompassing hers, to rest his forehead on them.  He wasn’t much for religion, but he just kept pleading with whoever was listening.  It couldn’t hurt anything.

 

“Come on, Carol,” Daryl urged, his voice just a whisper in her ear.  “You’re too strong to let a walker be the end of you.”  It was true, she was so much stronger than when he first saw her, but right now, she was as fragile as a porcelain doll in the hands of a child.  He couldn’t watch her slip away, but was paralyzed by the fear that if he closed his eyes, if he turned away, she would disappear.

 

With his words, she twitched her fingers.  He tightened his grip with his right hand while he swept his left from her fingertips up along her arm to her face, caressing her soft skin until his hand came to rest on her cheek.  Her eyes opened and she gazed into his, the smallest smile appearing on her dry, cracked lips.  

 

“I won’t let you fall apart,” he promised his porcelain beauty, as he lifted her hand carefully and gently kissed it.

 

 


End file.
